War Burns
by LornaWinters
Summary: "Certain it is and sure: love burns, ale burns, fire burns, war burns, and politics burns. But cold is life without them." Newly-married Commander Bochra volunteers for a suicide mission after he learns that his wife is dead. He crosses paths with Geordi LaForge once again. The sequel to "As the Grapevine Grows."
1. Prologue

__**Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Thanks!  
**

_Certain it is and sure: love burns, ale burns, fire burns, war burns, and politics burns. But cold is life without them. _

-an old Romulan proverb

* * *

General Radek stepped out of the shuttle onto a snow-covered terrace. The sovereign of Nua Breizh was there, waiting to greet him. Radek's breath froze in the cold air as he exhaled. Lacy flakes were gently falling, landing in his hair and on his uniform. Lady Guinevere Allaire stood among the descending particles. She looked weary, but her chestnut eyes had not lost any of their previous fire. She looked more like a regent now, in her regal cloak. Radek could just make out her tiara underneath her hood.

"General Radek," she greeted.

"Lady Allaire," he bowed in return. _She is so young_, the Romulan veteran suddenly realized. Or perhaps he was just getting old.

"Please walk with me to the garden, while we make the arrangements for your repairs." It was not a request, and Radek could tell from the look in her eyes that there was something else she urgently wanted to tell him. Obediently, he followed her. He courteously offered her his arm, and she accepted without hesitation.

"It is a shame that you have come in the winter, as it does not show our city to its best advantage," she said casually as they rounded the corner. Before he answered, she lifted her wrist to reveal a jeweled bracelet. She pushed one of the jewels, which started flashing. It was no ordinary piece of jewelry. "This will allow us to speak freely, but only for a few moments. We are under Dominion occupation, General. You must leave now before you are captured."

"We did not detect any ships," he said in surprise.

"Their warp signatures are hidden by our moon's gravity," she explained. "There is not much time. Go, before it's too late."

"What will happen to you, Milady?" he asked. Though she was the wife of his daughter's murderer, he no longer placed unjustified blame on her.

"They no doubt plan to interrogate and execute me," she said, holding her chin up spiritedly, "but they will not get the chance. We are revolting tonight." She smiled cunningly. "The poor Cardassians. They thought the Bajorans had given them trouble. Before dawn, they will rue the day they ever heard of Nua Breizh."

"You are a courageous woman," the Romulan general said, "and you have earned my respect and admiration. I wish you success." His former opinion that humans were treacherous scum, which was primarily the result of Tasha Yar's unfaithfulness to him, was now changed.

As Radek had predicted, the Dominion would indeed save him the trouble of exacting his revenge on Bochra. Radek despised the man, and now he was rightfully going to pay for what he had done. Yet, it was a hollow triumph. His respect for this woman had stayed his hand from directly carrying out his vengeance personally. She had endured much, and he had not been able to bring himself to cause her more pain merely because the man she loved was his enemy. He was getting soft in his old age, he realized.

"General," she said hesitatingly, "I wonder if you would consent to do a favor for me."

"Name it," he said, for he did not wish to see her humble herself.

"Would you please deliver a message to my husband?" she asked, her eyes filled with sorrow. She was asking a great deal. Now Radek truly had no need for retribution. The fact that it would be his enemy who conveyed his fair lady's last words to him would be torture enough for Bochra. Radek's avengement would be complete.

"For you, I would consider it a privilege," he said.

Lady Allaire smiled gratefully as her eyes shined with tears. None of the moisture escaped, however. "Tell him," she said, keeping her voice even, "that I went to my death bravely. And that, he is the only man I have ever truly loved."

The elder nodded. "Swear it, Radek," she pleaded.

"As a Romulan officer, I swear to deliver your message exactly, my Lady. And," he added gently, "be assured that I will not make any retaliation toward your consort." He really was getting sentimental, wasn't he?

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Lady Allaire," a deep male voice called from inside the building.

"It's Gul Trepar," she hissed in alarm. "You must go now!"

It was loathsome to leave her there at the disposal of some Cardassian swine, but Radek knew that the lady would not consent to abandon her people. If he did not leave, others of the Allies might fall into the trap. Every warship was needed if they were to have any chance of winning this war. _War burns_, she had once reminded him. It was ironic that this young human woman was the one who was teaching him, a weathered Romulan soldier, about the realities of life.


	2. Chapter 1

Radek wasted no time in sending the message. It arrived later the same day, not long after the news of the seizure of Nua Breizh by Dominion forces reached the _Greenclaw_. Subcommander Donatra cautiously delivered both messages to her commander. Since it was general intelligence, she already knew the contents of the first report. Though the second was a personal message, she had a good idea of what it must have contained.

"Thank you, Subcommander," he said, feigning indifference. "That will be all."

"Yes, Commander," she responded, leaving his ready room.

Bochra quickly picked it up after the door closed. He froze in horror as he read the communiqué, and for several minutes he was unable to move. He felt numb, as though his nerves had been somehow dissolved into nothingness inside his body. It was not the first time that this sensation had seized him.

His mind flashed back to his memory of the melee at San Mihael and its aftermath:

_He was drained from fighting, but relatively unscathed. There were so many dead. But Nua Breizh was safe, at least for the time being. It had come at a high cost, but it was worth it to him. As he searched the fallen for survivors, he came upon the body of Stefan DeSeve. He had a Jem'Hadar _kar'takin_ projecting from his mangled corpse. So, his rival was dead. _

_And then Bochra saw the woman lying next to him. His tired lungs constricted as he fell to his knees in despair. He knew that she had wanted to fight, but the thought that she would disguise herself as a man and secretly take part in the battle had never occurred to him. Yet there she was, the lady for whom he had so valiantly fought. He had never managed to tell her that he was passionately in love with her. And now she was dead. _

_Guinevere was so valorous and beautiful, even in death. No other woman had ever moved him the way she had, but Bochra would not permit himself to weep. He was a Romulan warrior, the commander of an imperial warbird. He dejectedly stroked her face, and realized that it was still somewhat warm, at least for a human. His heart pounded as he brought his arrow-shaped ear to her lips. She was breathing!_

_He hastily examined her neck and limbs to be certain they were not broken. There was a deep slash on her right side, and she appeared to have lost much of her curiously scarlet blood. She would not last much longer. He painstakingly lifted her and laid her head on his shoulder. Making his way to the _Enterprise_ doctor's hospital (he had less confidence in the primitive Breton healers), he nuzzled his cheek to hers. Her soft skin was cool, but not devoid of life._

"_Please," he whispered desperately, "you must not die, Guinevere. I love you."_

_When he reached the hospital, Doctor Crusher was giving Captain Picard the first estimate of the butcher's bill. They stared at him in surprise. "Lady Allaire!" Crusher exclaimed when she recognized the woman Bochra laid on the examination table._

"_She is dying! Help her," the Romulan ordered._

_At once Crusher ran her scanner over the patient. "Will she live?" Bochra asked impatiently. His entire universe hung on the doctor's answer._

"_She's going to be fine," Crusher assured him, blinking her azure eyes, after what had seemed to him like an eternity. "She's banged up pretty badly, but you got her here just in time, Commander." Bochra nodded with relief. "Now both of you go away and let me do my job," she winked. _

_Picard left without questioning her, but Bochra dawdled. Crusher smiled at him perceptively, clearly aware of his feelings for her patient. "I'll let you know when she wakes up, Bochra."_

Guinevere and Bochra had known that it was a real possibility that one or both of them would not survive the war. That was the very reason they decided to get married the last time they had seen each other on DS9. At least they had been able to have two nights together. But then he was ordered back to the front lines. They had been espoused for only three months, and had not seen each other since the day after the ceremony. It was a cruel twist of fate.

Bochra could not believe she was dead. He rolled the ring she had given to him with his fingers. It was identical to hers, though slightly larger, with intricate Celtic knotwork etched all the way around. On the inside was carved their names and their wedding date. The Earth tradition of wearing a ring had meant a great deal to her. It was the sign that they belonged to each other, she had told him.

In truth he had belonged to her since the day they met, after she audaciously stormed into the Senate and challenged his superior. Ever since then, he had never been able to so much as look at another woman without finding some disqualifying flaw. And then he realized that the failing of other women was that they were not Guinevere. He had fully intended to wear the band for the rest of his life the first time he put it on. And now…not even her death was going to change that, he vowed. How was he going to exist without her?

No! He refused to believe it was true! This was assuredly a plot by Radek to avenge his daughter. He was clearly taking advantage of the convenient recent fall of Nua Breizh in order to cause him distress in any way he could. That vile cad! He was going to make that snake in the grass pay dearly—

His melancholy was interrupted by the door chime. General Tomalak entered, and at once could see there was something terribly wrong. "You have received bad news, Commander." It was not a question.

"Yes, General," the younger willed his voice to stay even. "Nua Breizh has fallen to the Cardassians. The Bretons are rioting, but they will not be able to re-take their planet." He was silent for a long time.

"And?" the elder prompted. He had probably been tipped off by Donatra.

"My wife led the insurrection," Bochra mumbled. "She is missing, and is presumed dead."

Tomalak tightened his mouth. "I see." He paused. "I did not approve of your marriage, as I have told you," he said at last, watching as Bochra sadly clutched his ring, "but know that I grieve with you all the same… my son."

* * *

Tomalak threw the PADD that was just handed to him on his desk. "Are you mad?" he demanded lividly. He inhaled deeply and tried to calm himself. "I realize you are upset over the death of your consort, but that is no reason for you to make another serious mistake!"

Bochra was resolved. "I have made my decision, General," he said firmly. "Can you truly think of anyone better for the task?"

The general exhaled loudly. "I can think of several officers who have better credentials than you do, Commander!"

"But they do not have my experience," the younger calmly pointed out.

"I don't care!" Tomalak snapped. "I will not allow you to throw your life away simply because a human woman was killed! This is war, Commander! We are Romulans! It is a part of our way of life."

"Yes, father, it _is_ a part of life!" his son yelled back, deliberately refusing to acknowledge the jab about Guinevere being a mere human. "And you are hindering the best interests of the Empire by not sending the most qualified soldier for this task!"

Tomalak stood in his son's face. "I should have you disciplined for insubordination…"

Bochra bit his lip. He knew it would not be a pleasant experience. Punishment in the Romulan military was harsh. But he held his ground. The two men stared at each other for a long time, scathingly angry, and neither willing to give way.

But it was Tomalak who backed down in the end. His son had been lost to him the day he met that extraordinary lady. Bochra was dealing with his grief in the only way that he knew how, in a very _Romulan_ way. Who was he to deny him a part in a glorious mission? His father? As his father, he should be proud of him. "Very well," the elder grimaced. "You depart in one hour."

Bochra saluted and left. Tomalak bitterly watched his only son walk out the door. _I will never see him again…_

* * *

Geordi LaForge listened carefully to Captain Picard's instructions. He had just been assigned to a reconnaissance mission to Felton Prime, a planet deep inside Dominion territory. Intelligence reports suggested that a new Cardassian shipyard was being built there. LaForge was being sent to investigate. Starfleet Command wanted him for the superior visual abilities provided by his ocular implants.

"The Romulans have insisted on sending one of their operatives along as well," Picard added.

"Why am I not surprised?" Geordi said wryly. "They'll never learn to trust us, will they?"

"Would you trust them?" the captain asked, playing the devil's advocate.

Geordi grinned. "No, sir. I guess I wouldn't."

Picard smiled back. "You'll never guess who they've assigned."

The engineer shook his head. "No clue, sir."

"Commander Bochra," Picard revealed. "It would appear, Geordi, that your fates are intertwined."

"It certainly looks that way, doesn't it?" he admitted. "But actually, I'm relieved because at least I know a little about who I'm dealing with. For a Romulan, Bochra isn't a bad guy. It could be a lot worse, Captain."

"Yes, it could. One more thing. Remember that this is a reconnaissance mission. Once you find out what there is to know, get out of there and report back. No heroics. Is that understood?"

"Aye, aye, sir," Geordi said with an old-fashioned salute. "You know you don't have to tell me twice."

* * *

Geordi stepped into the shuttle area of the Romulan starbase, where the vessel for his mission was waiting for him. With him was Ensign Martinez. They were introduced to the Romulan components of the team: Subcommander Donatra and an enlisted soldier named Sirtis.

As soon as he saw Bochra, Geordi knew that he had been though hell. He already thought of the Romulan as a tough guy, but he seemed even more serious and callous now than he used to be. _Guess things aren't going so well for him_, he thought. But then again, what else did he expect? Things were not exactly going well for anybody in the Alpha Quadrant.

"Hey," Geordi greeted the Romulan, "Looks like you can't get rid of me, eh, Commodore?"

Bochra smiled slightly at the joke, but then his face returned to its former scowl. "That seems to be the case."

"Let's hope I turn out to be your lucky charm. Yeah, yeah, I know. Romulans don't believe in luck."

"You are incorrigible," he said in annoyance. "But," his tone softened, "I am glad you are here, Geordi." There was the guy he knew before.

They boarded the shuttle and prepared for departure. As Bochra's hands punched the buttons, Geordi noticed the ring on his left hand. "So," he chuckled, "looks like you've gone and committed matrimony on me."

But the commander's face did not show any joy the way he had expected it to. "Yes," Bochra answered with some hesitance.

"She wouldn't happen be a lady who speaks French and likes to swing swords around, would she?" he teased.

"Yes," the Romulan repeated in the same, dispassionate tone.

Subcommander Donatra reported that all was ready, and then left to inspect the cloaking device.

"Bochra," he asked with concern, "What's going on? Stop me if I'm wrong, but I thought you'd be happy to be married to her." Then he froze, "She didn't leave you, did she?"

"No," he said sullenly. He then glared at Geordi. "Do you not read intelligence reports? Or is Starfleet really as incompetent as I am told?"

"Guess I've gotten a little behind," Geordi confessed.

Bochra's face may as well have been a mask. "Nua Breizh was taken by the Cardassians three days ago. The Bretons resisted, and many of them were slaughtered. Guinevere was most likely one of them, but I will never know, it seems."

"Oh," the other said guiltily. "Hey, I'm sorry, Bochra."

The Romulan looked at him again. Geordi could see that Bochra appreciated his kind words, but he knew he would not say so. It was his way, he supposed. "She will be avenged," the commander vowed. Somehow, Geordi did not like the way that sounded.


	3. Chapter 2

**Sorry it took me so long to update this! I went through a bit of a writer's block with this story for a while. Hopefully, that's past now. As always, thank you to all of my readers and reviewers!**

They would reach Felton Prime in twenty-four hours. Once they got there, they would have to beam down to the surface, and make a trek past the energy field surrounding the base. It was going to be a long mission, for so many reasons. Ever since Bochra's sad disclosure, Geordi had no clue what to say to him and so resorted to the routine talk of flying a shuttle.

The Romulan in turn said very little, and Geordi did not blame him. He was there when Bochra was trying to decide whether or not to pursue Guinevere. It was he who had given him that encouraging nudge to go after her. Bochra had taken the initiative, and had gone all the way. But now she was dead. She was such a great lady. Geordi couldn't believe it. The whole thing was just wrong.

"There is a gravimetric distortion ahead," Bochra reported in a monotone voice, "compensating."

"Acknowledged," Geordi answered. He knew his friend needed to talk. It was simply not healthy to keep all of that grief bottled up inside. But there was no way Bochra would co-operate if he brought it up. So there they were, friends who had been through so much together, and they had nothing to say to each other.

The silence was killing him, however. "So…how's your family?" he asked in an attempt to start a conversation and at least break the silence.

"My father was well when I last saw him," Bochra answered. It didn't look like he was going to volunteer any more information on that subject, either. So there were problems at home, too? Good grief, this guy had it rough!

He tried to recall from his briefings and reports whether or not the _Greenclaw_ was still around. "How's your ship?"

"The centurion I left in charge is competent enough," Bochra said, "I imagine she is still in once piece."

"What about—"

"Geordi," Bochra stopped him, holding up his hand. "I understand what you're trying to do for me. But you must realize that Romulans do not deal with grief in the same way that humans do."

"Yeah, I know," said Geordi, "just trying to help."

"Thank you," the Romulan said politely, yet firmly, "But there is nothing you can do, Geordi."

LaForge was getting hungry, and he knew that Bochra hadn't eaten since they departed the station, either. "Hey, I'm headed to the replicator," he said, getting up. "What do you want? And don't give me any of that 'I'm not hungry' baloney, Bochra. Because I'm not gonna buy it."

"Now that you mention it," he admitted, "I _am_ hungry. Just bring me whatever it is you choose."

"Sure thing," he gave Bochra a pat on the shoulder and left the cockpit. He went to the miniature mess hall in the room behind. He approached the replicator, but then realized that he had no clue what anything was. It would've been nice if the Romulans had programmed some Earth dishes, but maybe that was asking for too much. He didn't dare to complain, though.

"Um," he turned to Subcommander Donatra and Ensign Martinez, who were sitting at the table nearby. They were deep into a conversation. It sounded like they were talking about men, and Geordi couldn't tell if it was good or bad. Best to steer clear of that kind of thing.

What was it about women, anyway? They always had this way of banding together, no matter what their species. "Any suggestions for dinner, ladies?" he asked gingerly.

* * *

The Romulan shuttle _Eisn_ entered orbit of Felton Prime right on schedule.

"Scans are inconclusive," LaForge reported. "But there's definitely something down there. The only way we'll know for sure, though, is if we go and take a look. Personally, I'm guessing we're going to catch them red-handed on this one."

"Agreed," said Bochra, "on all of your points." He had spent enough time around humans so that he was beginning to comprehend their idioms and expressions. The Nua Breizhians' turn of phrase was naturally somewhat different from Geordi's and the other humans from Starfleet that he'd encountered. But since they were both Earth languages, he could see the similarities. It was a shame, really. He was making considerable progress in his study of French. It didn't matter anymore, though.

"Let's saddle-up," said LaForge to the team.

_Ah, a reference to riding horses_, the Romulan realized. And then he remembered that Guinevere hated horses. She had told him that it was because she had been thrown from one as a child, and as a result did not trust them. Guinevere, why did everything have to remind him of her? _No—focus on the mission!_

He glanced over at Donatra. She nodded in acknowledgement, confirming that she was carrying the "special equipment." She was the only other member of the team who knew of his secret orders. Somehow, she had discovered that he was to destroy the shipyard at all costs, and had insisted on coming with him. Donatra was very perceptive, and had a knack for finding things out. It was a good thing she was so loyal, otherwise he would've had to dispose of an excellent first officer.

"Last one down's a rotten egg," Martinez smirked. Now _that_ was one he hadn't heard before.

Bochra, LaForge, Martinez, Donatra, and Sirtis beamed down to the planet. It was a barren world, so there was no cover to in which to hide. As a result, their approach to the base would have to be timed just right so as to occur during the night.

"The darkness will last another seven hours," said Sirtis. "That should be enough to get to the base, but we will not have time for any breaks." He eyed the two Starfleet officers as though their mere presence was already slowing him down. He indicated on the scanner screen. "At dawn, we can hide in these rock formations until nightfall. We'll have to wait approximately ten hours for the next window of opportunity."

They pushed on across the empty wasteland. There was very little chatter among them on the way. Bochra could tell that LaForge was concerned about him. He was watching him closely. He was a good friend, but the Romulan suspected that he would disapprove of his plans once he became aware of them.

At long last they reached the rock formations. There was still some time before daybreak, but not enough to check out the base. They would have to wait.

"Can you see anything, LaForge?" Bochra asked.

The human focused his ocular implants, but then shook his head. "There's something there alright, but it's too far away for me to make out any details."

"Set up camp," the commander ordered. The others busied themselves with their various tasks.

"So what do you think?" LaForge asked him.

Bochra kept his eyes on his PADD. "I think we will find exactly what we all expect to find," he answered.

LaForge lowered his voice. "You gonna tell me what else is going on?"

"What else is there to tell?" he responded cryptically. He knew where this was going. It was a lost cause, but he had to at least make some attempt not to reveal top secret orders.

"Don't lie to me, Bochra. You know I can tell when you're lying." LaForge crossed his arms. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to pull a Kamikaze on me?"

"Gul Trepar is rumored to be in command of this operation," he revealed. At this point, he didn't care if LaForge knew about his vendetta or not. There was nothing he could do to stop him.

The human let his arms fall to his sides. "I'm guessing he's the one who took Nua Breizh?"

"Precisely," he answered calmly. "That's why I volunteered for this assignment. But," he halted his friend's protests, "there is more to it than revenge."

"Oh?" LaForge inquired, re-folding his arms.

"I have orders to destroy the shipyard," the Romulan informed him.

"And why didn't you tell me about this before?" Bochra could tell he was boiling just under the surface.

"It wasn't necessary until now," the commander said. "My superiors were uncertain as to whether Starfleet would approve, so I was ordered not to reveal it."

"Typical Romulan recklessness," LaForge sneered. "And you expect me to just go along with this?"

Bochra looked up finally. "I will do this with or without your help, Geordi. But," he added less harshly, "I would appreciate your help."

The Starfleet officer considered his request for a moment. "Alright, Bochra," he said, "We'll help you blow up the base, but _everybody_ comes back alive."

"If you can think of a way to do that, I'm not opposed to it." Unlike the first time they met while stranded on Galorndon Core, he no longer cared whether he lived or died. But there were the others to consider.

"Simple," offered LaForge, "Set a timer on the explosive."

"We were going to do that anyway."

"And you forget your crazy ideas about revenge," he said quickly.

"I cannot do that, Geordi." He would only compromise so far.

"Look," LaForge argued, "The guy's gonna die when we blow this place up anyway. Why isn't that enough for you?"

"You are human," he informed him, "You wouldn't understand."

"So was Guinevere," his friend countered. "Killing the man yourself isn't going to bring her back." Bochra winced inwardly. Geordi was right. Nothing would bring her back. What else was left for him besides retribution?

"Has it ever occurred to you that you might better honor her memory by doing as much as possible to help win this war?" LaForge put his hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes it takes greater courage to fight and live than to just give up and die. Now you were the one who showed me that on Galorndon Core. Remember?"

Bochra had to admit, he could not refute those points.

"And what about your people?" Geordi continued. "You're letting your personal feelings get in the way of serving the Romulan Empire to the best of your abilities." It was the exact same argument Bochra had used with his father. There was no way to win, he realized. Once again, Geordi LaForge had verbally defeated him.

"Very well, Geordi," he said after a while, "We'll do it your way."

"Give me your word on that," he insisted. LaForge was no fool.

Bochra nodded, "My word." There was no changing his mind now. He still held onto the hope that he would somehow run into Trepar by accident, however.

"You'll thank me for this later," LaForge assured him. "And when this is all over, we'll have a few drinks together."

The sun had set. It was time. Sirtis had located an entry point, and they were over the wall in no time. Just as they feared, there was indeed a shipyard. And what was worse, it was operating at full capacity. Twenty-five new warships were nearly finished.

"I estimate they'll be ready to deploy in less than seventy-two hours," Martinez reported.

"It's good that we're going to destroy them before then," Sirtis remarked.

"And we should be long gone when that happens," LaForge reminded them.

The team managed to make their way into the compound headquarters, where the main power source was located. Bochra, Sirtis, and Martinez stood guard while LaForge and Donatra planted the bomb. It all seemed too easy. But, then again, the Cardassians were not expecting any of this. Bochra gripped his disruptor anxiously. It was beginning to look like he would not have his way after all.

"Ok, let's get the hell outta here," LaForge said once he set the timer. "I've set it for seventy hours to give us the maximum amount of time."

They made their way out of the building unhindered. Right as they reached the wall, however, a file of Cardassian soldiers surrounded them.

"Drop your weapons!" their leader commanded.


	4. Chapter 3

Quark was wiping down the bar after Morn had furiously slammed his drink down and spilled it all over the place. The war was costing him a lot of money, the courier had railed. His customers were tired of the frequent delays and of cargo not always arriving as the result of Dominion seizures. Morn was usually an easygoing kind of guy, but when he got into these moods, everyone else ran for cover. Fortunately, the Lurian left the bar before making too much of a scene.

It seemed like everyone was angry all the time lately. Quark was in somewhat of a tizzy himself. Word of the fall of Nua Breizh had just reached Deep Space Nine that morning. He thought of the pretty regent of that unfortunate world. It was almost as bad as when Jadzia died.

While Quark wasn't in love with Guinevere like he had been with Jadzia, he greatly respected and admired her. She had only recently gotten married to Commander Bochra the last time she was on the station. It was foolish of her to give up her throne like that, he thought. Just like it was foolish of Jadzia to throw herself away on Worf. But the Ferengi had come to accept that exceptional females were just inexplicably prone to falling for the wrong men, and that was it. It was all a real shame. A tragedy, really.

He realized that he was cleaning next to the very spot she had sat at the last time she was there. She had had a drink with Bochra, before that infamous whist match with Sisko, Worf, and Kira. True, that was the same night that her husband-to-be had thrown the first punch in the worst Klingon/Romulan brawl he had ever seen. But Quark had never blamed her for that personally. And he had to admit, he always wanted to punch Worf himself. For a few seconds, he forgot about his sorrow and smirked when he remembered the way Worf went flying backwards in his chair. He glanced up at the Klingon in question.

In a far off corner at the back of the room sat Worf, moping. Quark was used to this kind of behavior from him by now, so he had long ago stopped inquiring about the reasons. But he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he too, was affected by the recent news. Even though he had officially apologized, everyone knew he didn't mean it. And now it was too late.

Bashir and O'Brien walked in and somberly sat down in front of him. "So you've heard the news?" the barkeep asked them. The two humans nodded in response.

"Worf doesn't look happy," the Irishman observed.

"You mean more so than usual?" asked Quark. "Tell me about it. He's been sitting there all evening, and hasn't said a word."

"What's wrong with him do you think?" the doctor said.

"I think the question you should ask, Doctor, is 'what _isn't_ wrong with him?'" Quark said sarcastically.

"With Worf," O'Brien pointed out, "you know it's got to be some sort of honor type of thing. But don't think that I'm going to get drunk with him again to find out."

"Do you think it has anything to do with the recent news?" Bashir asked.

O'Brien sighed. "It's possible. I know that it's gotten me down. But I've heard from Heranal. He wasn't there when it happened, at least. And neither was Lord Cahal. But Lady Guinevere…" He trailed off sadly. "They're powerless to help their people at any rate."

"Do you think the Romulans will step in again?" offered Quark.

"Nua Breizh isn't strategically important enough to interest the Romulans anymore at this point," Bashir explained. "Their forces are stretched too thinly, just like the rest of us. And Bochra is only a commander. From what I know, his family doesn't have the power to wield that kind of influence, assuming they were even inclined to do so."

"Yeah, I heard his family didn't exactly approve. I can only imagine what that man is going through," said O'Brien, "And he only just married her, too."

"It all just makes me feel so powerless," Bashir mourned. "If only I could have seen this ahead of time and realized the Dominion would inevitably take Nua Breizh. I could have thought of a solution, before any of this happened. I might have been able to save her and her people."

Just then, Garak sat on the stool next to them. "It's too late for most of her people, I'm afraid, Doctor," he said. "You'll be interested to know, however, that she is not dead."

The three looked at him in surprise. The tailor continued in a low voice. "One of my sources has just informed me that she was seen on Felton Prime within the last twenty-four hours."

"Garak," said an astonished Bashir, "Are you sure?"

The Cardassian looked at him and leaned on the bar. "Now you know I wouldn't have brought it up if I wasn't," he said in annoyance.

"What are we going to do?" asked Quark.

"_I_ am going to rescue her," said Worf from behind them. "You are welcome to join me if you wish."

"Worf," said O'Brien, "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Chief, I am quite serious."

The other three stared at him and waited for his explanation.

"My personal grief over Jadzia's death, and my prejudices towards the Romulans blinded me into behaving dishonorably towards her," Worf explained. "I must make amends and regain my honor before it is too late."

"Count me in, too," O'Brien volunteered.

"And me," said Bashir.

"I can't stand by and let the same thing that happened to Jadzia happen to Guinevere," vowed Quark. "I'm in, too." Worf glared at him for his remark, but said nothing.

Bashir eyed the Cardassian. "What about you, Garak?"

The tailor smiled thinly. "I'm afraid this time, I can only be the messenger. There are other matters that demand my full attention, which can't be left behind," he alluded.

"Garak," said Bashir with a smile, "could it be that you actually_ care_ what happens to her? Is this the tiniest spark of compassion I see in you?"

"I admire Lady Guinevere," he alleged, "but, as I told Jake Sisko, I do so only from a distance. That's why I told you about it in the first place. Of course it should go without saying, Gentlemen," he reminded them, "You didn't hear any of this from me." With that, he went off in the direction of his shop.

"There is one other thing," Worf mentioned to his comrades after Garak was gone. "I do not believe Captain Sisko will approve of this rescue operation."

"Worf's right," agreed O'Brien. "He's going to say that he can't spare any of us on such a dangerous mission for just one person. And you know he wouldn't let all three of us go."

"Looks like it's insubordination, then," Bashir held his drink up.

"Insubordination most foul," O'Brien touched his glass to his friend's.

Worf also put his mug of bloodwine to theirs. "To insubordination."

Quark shrugged. "Well, I'm not acting without orders, but I'm with you fellows, too."

* * *

The Cardassians had them surrounded. Donatra muttered a Romulan curse.

"Yeah, you said it," agreed Martinez. Though she didn't know exactly what that word meant, she completely understood the sentiment.

"Drop your weapons," Gul Trepar commanded.

Bochra stepped forward. "We will never surrender to the Dominion," he fearlessly declared. He was well aware that he had just sealed his doom. But his wife was in all likelihood dead anyway, so what did it matter? As long as the explosives weren't discovered, the mission would be successful. And he would be out of his misery.

"This time," said LaForge at his side, "I agree with you, my friend."

"This is your last chance," said the Gul. "Surrender."

Bochra braced himself for the conflict that was about to ensue. But he was interrupted before he could give the order to fire.

"Perhaps they would be more inclined to surrender if you just asked them politely," suggested a feminine voice from the shadows.

Bochra's heart stopped. He knew that voice. It was the dearest voice in the galaxy to him. His jaw tensed as Guinevere strolled up to Trepar. She put her hand on the gul's forearm, staying his hand from slaughtering the intruders. She was appareled in an uncharacteristically extravagant dress. The Romulan commander furiously noted that it was a bit on the skimpy side. Gaudy jewelry jingled all about her.

There she was, the woman Bochra had risked his life for, won battles for—including the struggle for her people's freedom. He had killed his commander for her, alienated his father, and disobeyed direct orders from his superior— for her. Assuming he even survived this mission, his career was over. She was the woman he idolized, his bride. She belonged to _him_. But it was excruciatingly evident that she had betrayed him and was now this Cardassian veruul's mistress.

"'Ask them politely?'" Trepar repeated incredulously.

"Yes," she said casually, as though she were suggesting which utensil to use at the dinner table. "You know how I detest bloodshed," she pouted coyly.

The Cardassian laughed. "Alright," he challenged, "_you_ make them surrender, if you can."

Guinevere turned up her nose to the Gul. Then her expression softened when her gaze fell upon Bochra. "Come, come, Commander," she said enticingly, "surely this isn't worth your dying?" What was she doing? She was well aware of the Romulan way in these matters! Did she seriously think he would even consider allowing himself to be captured?

"Better to die fighting than to be a prisoner," Bochra glared at her. She was his wife! How could she betray him like this? Did she have any idea of the agony she was inflicting upon him?

"But why die today, when you can live to fight tomorrow?" Her ravishing amber eyes pleaded to him. They were speaking to him, telling him that she had a reason for her dastardly request. She had a plan, he understood all of a sudden, and she needed him to co-operate. But how could he trust her after what she had done?

"I suppose I cannot deny that your suggestion has merit, especially since it comes from such an enchanting woman," Bochra said, playing along, putting himself and his companions into her hands. He cursed himself for being too weak to resist her. But he was still too much in love with her to do otherwise, despite her treachery. "Put down your weapons," he ordered the others.

"Commander!" Sirtis protested.

"Do it!" he snapped. He desperately hoped that he was doing the right thing.

The others complied, and at once they were seized and bound.

Bochra watched as Trepar smiled at Guinevere, shaking his head in wonder. "Leave it to you," he said, touching her ebony tresses, "to charm even a Romulan to do your bidding. You certainly have the ability to make me do anything you want me to, Guinevere." The commander forcibly held in his rage as the Cardassian kissed his wife's hand.

Trepar took her arm into his, and possessively began to escort her away. But Guinevere turned her head and met her husband's eyes again. "I hope you get your chance, Commander," she told him. His attuned ear could hear the sorrow and regret in her voice. Bochra stared icily back at her as he was roughly dragged in the direction of the brig.


	5. Chapter 4

Bochra lay on the floor of his cell. He was exhausted, but too angry and hurt to sleep. The events of the day were playing out over and over again in his mind. He had been a fool to allow himself to fall for her. It was true; she probably had no choice in the matter. But it astonished him nonetheless. He had previously thought that she would've preferred death to such a disgusting arrangement. And it wasn't as though she had done it to save her people, either.

The fact that she had been married once before had always been difficult enough for him. He had determinedly gotten past that, however. But now that she had consented to become another man's mistress—and an enemy's at that—it was too much to bear. His heart ached with despair. Yet in spite of it all, he still loved her. That was the most tragic part.

_It doesn't matter_, he reminded himself. _Soon, it will all be over._

"Hey, Bochra," he heard LaForge's voice coming from somewhere in the darkness of the other cell. "You asleep?"

"Yes," he answered sarcastically. At first, he wasn't sure if LaForge had heard him. Humans could not hear as well as Romulans, after all.

But his teammate had heard him. "Any ideas for getting out of here?"

"No," Bochra said. He had been too occupied in self pity. What could be done anyway?

"Well, put your thinking cap on," the human hissed. "Now, how do we get out of here?"

"We don't," he growled.

"Do all Romulans give up so easily?" said LaForge, posing the same question Bochra had asked him in similar situation. "Besides, what about Guinevere? Don't you want to save her?"

"Quiet!" he interrupted. "Someone's coming." He could hear soft footsteps and the rippling of airy clothing. The person approaching was definitely not a Cardassian. In fact, he was certain he recognized the sound of those movements.

"Bochra?" his wife's voice called to him in a hushed tone.

"I am here," he murmured. "But what are _you_ doing here?"

Guinevere held up a dim light. "I've come to break you all out, of course!" She knew he was not pleased with her, but she was clearly not going to broach the subject at that point.

LaForge roused the others. "Sure is good to see you," he said to the lady with a relieved grin.

Before long, she had the force-field down. Guinevere wanted to embrace Bochra, but held herself back when he did not welcome her. LaForge and their comrades rushed out of the brig.

"Which way to the armory?" asked Sirtis.

Guinevere shook her head. "It's too far away. We'll be captured before we can get out."

"She's right," LaForge agreed. "Let's just make a run for it. It's our only chance."

"Wait," Bochra stopped him. "You will have more of a chance if I create a distraction. Geordi, I would appreciate it if you would make certain my wife is safe," he requested, as though she wasn't there. Both Geordi and Guinevere stared at him in shock. He ignored them, however, and walked away.

"No!" Guinevere pleaded, grabbing his arm, "You'll be killed!"

"There are worse things," he told her as he firmly pushed her away.

"Bochra!" she cried softly in disbelief, "How can you be so cruel?"

"You betray me and accuse _me_ of cruelty?" he retorted coldly as he whirled back around.

"How can you even think that?" she queried in astonishment. "You know that I would die before I betrayed you!"

The Romulan was silent. That was what he had previously thought.

"You don't believe me, do you?" A look of devastation spread across her face. He could see that she was near tears. But he also knew that she would not permit herself to lose control in front of the others. It made him feel like a brute to treat her this way, even if in his opinion she deserved it.

LaForge intervened. "Look, we don't have time for this! You can settle your marital disputes later. We gotta get outta here before that bomb goes off!"

"There's a bomb?" Guinevere's eyes grew wide.

"We set it right before we were captured," Donatra supplied. "We have approximately sixty-three and a half hours to leave the planet before detonation."

"Right," said LaForge, "so let's not waste any more time. Remember our agreement, Bochra," he insisted, "_everyone_ gets out."

Donatra held her hands behind her back. "I agree with LaForge, Commander."

"Very well," Bochra acknowledged begrudgingly.

"You're not going anywhere!" Trepar said as he entered the room. Before his statement was finished, Cardassian soldiers rushed in around them. The gul held a disruptor rifle in one hand. In his other hand was a bandage, which he had pressed to his forehead. He lifted the cloth to reveal a nasty gash, still oozing blood.

"I should have listened to my glinn," he stepped forward, "He warned me that you couldn't be trusted."

"Yes," said Guinevere defiantly, "you should have."

Trepar gritted his teeth furiously. "I could have taken you the first day I brought you here, but no, I wanted you willingly."

"That's something you will never get," she sneered back in disgust.

Bochra's stomach tightened. Guinevere had told him the truth, and he hadn't believed her. He had just assumed she was lying based on mere appearances. The knowledge that he had grievously wronged her cut deep. For the first time during the mission, he found that he now wanted to return alive, and with Guinevere at his side.

"I was patient with you, Guinevere," Trepar's anger was mounting, "but now I'm going to have you, wench!"

Bochra stepped in front of his wife and crossed his arms. "No you won't," he said unbendingly.

Trepar laughed in spite. "Who is this? Your lover?" he asked Guinevere.

"Her husband," the Romulan corrected.

The gul nodded as he processed this newest bit of information. "That can be rectified." He turned to his guards. "Take her back to my bedchamber. Prepare to shoot the others."

"Are you afraid to fight me yourself, coward?" Bochra challenged.

To his relief, the Cardassian took the bait. "Very well, Romulan. You want a fight, you shall have one! This is my affair. No one else will interfere," Trepar told his minions. "I will settle this myself." He gave Bochra a twisted grin. "You will not survive this night, even if you win."

"And _you_ will not survive the beating I'm about to give you," he shot back, taking a fighting stance. All around him, he could hear the Cardassians murmuring. No doubt they were wagering on the outcome of the fight. He also heard Guinevere's intake of breath. He didn't wish to cause her more distress, but it couldn't be helped.

Trepar circled, searching for an opening. Bochra in turn observed his opponent, concentrating intently. He forced himself to keep down his intense, pent up emotions before they could cloud his judgment. At least now he had something to fight for again.

The gul took the first swing. Bochra nimbly dodged it and delivered his own, powerful blow to the ribs. Trepar recovered quickly, his fist connecting to his adversary's jaw.

Bochra was back on his feet in a flash. He was doggedly determined to win. He had to make things right again between himself and his wife; and the only way for him to do that was to fight for her. True, it was too late to save her life, but at least he would save her honor.

He had hardly eaten or slept during the days leading up to the mission, and he was starting to regret it. Trepar, on the other hand, seemed to be in top condition aside from the head wound Guinevere had given him. His hits were fast and hard, and it took every ounce of strength for Bochra to keep up with him. He vowed that the fight would end only when Trepar was dead at his feet.

* * *

The Cardassians were at a loss as to what to do. Apparently, it had never occurred to them that this Romulan prisoner would actually succeed in killing their leader.

Bochra and Guinevere stared at each other for a few seconds. They didn't have much time, they knew, before they would be put to death. Guinevere rushed into his arms, and this time he eagerly returned her embrace. "Can you ever forgive me?" he implored.

"When are you going to see how much I love you?" she said, holding her hands to his cheeks, and gazing sadly into his eyes.

"I see it now," he said ardently. "I was wrong doubt you, _ailhun._"* He held her close to him, waiting for their inevitable execution. The sound of a phaser blast rang through his ears. But it was not from the Cardassians, he realized. That was the sound of Federation issue phasers. The guards fell around them, and they turned to see their rescuers.

"Are we fashionably late?" asked Worf, joking dryly. Behind him were Bashir, O'Brien—and the Ferengi barkeep? Bochra wasn't sure which was more shocking to him, the fact that they weren't dead, or the identity of the Good Samaritans.

LaForge was grinning from ear to ear. "Don't worry, Worf, my man, you guys brought the party."

"Mr. Worf," Bochra acknowledged. "I never thought I'd be pleased to see you again. But I am," he conceded.

***ailhun=wife**

**(Source: _The Rihannsu Language Project_)**

**Ok y'all, I know this is totally cheesy, but writing this chapter reminded me of Peter Cetera's "Glory of Love." Yeah, I'm such an 80's child…**


	6. Chapter 5

**Thank you 0afan0, thyme2read, JustaCrazy-Man, and Fameanon for leaving me those fine reviews! And thank you to all who read this!**

**Yes, I know, this is turning into a TNG/DS9 crossover. To make things easier on you readers, however, I'll wait until the story is finished and then place it in its proper category.  
**

Felton Prime exploded before their eyes on the viewscreen of General Martok's ship, the _Rotarran_. The mission was a success.

"Glorious!" the general marveled as he watched. Since Worf was a member of his House, Martok had agreed to transport him and the other three passengers to the base. Being what many considered the epitome of a Klingon, he fully understood matters of honor. And he was always on the lookout for a heroic deed to accomplish anyway.

Martok turned his chair to Bochra. "Too bad we didn't have time to get your shuttle, Commander." The Romulan nodded in wry acknowledgement. "Now we will return to DS9," Martok informed his new passengers.

"Wait, General," said Guinevere, as he was about to give the order to depart. "I would appreciate it very much if you would take me back to Nua Breizh." Everyone else turned to stare at her. Bochra was not in the least bit surprised, but he put his hand on her shoulder in a futile attempt to persuade her from her decided course of action.

Martok narrowed his single eye at her. "My Lady?"

"I'm not going to cower on DS9 while my people are suffering and dying," she said fervently, as much to her husband as to the Klingon. "I cannot abandon them when they need me the most. Cahal and Henri are holding the defensive line along the Dominion border. Therefore, the responsibility to take back our world falls to me."

"Guinevere," Bochra said gently to her, "You have tried that already."

"And I will try _again_," she insisted. "This time, we will have the time to make preparations, as well as the element of surprise."

"Commander Bochra is right," Worf admitted begrudgingly. "There aren't enough of your people to make the attempt again. "Most of your men are either dead or with Lord Cahal."

"Yes," she acknowledged, but had obviously not been swayed.

LaForge gawked. "Are you _crazy_…my Lady?" he added her title quickly.

"You're not seriously going to lead your women and children against the Jem'Hadar?" O'Brien protested. "They'll be slaughtered!"

Bochra smiled thinly. "Nua Breizhian women are quite capable of defending themselves," he said with an admiring nod to his wife, "even if by tradition they don't participate in battle. Most of the time, that is," he added with amusement. He took her hand, making his decision. "You are my_ ailhun. _ I will never leave you to fight alone again."

Donatra and Sirtis exchanged glances. "We will follow you, Commander," said Donatra. Bochra nodded gratefully, touched by their personal loyalty to him.

It was then that Doctor Bashir piped up. "The odds are slightly in your favor, actually," he said, "assuming of course, you're planning to use stealth rather than force?"

"That's exactly what I plan to do," Guinevere confirmed.

Bashir paced around the bridge, hunching slightly as he made his calculations. "Yes," he said, "this can work. All you have to do is give the Dominion so much trouble that it won't be worth it to them to continue to hold your planet. Most likely there's only a minimal-sized force stationed there—that's all they can spare. Lord Cahal has shown that he will not abandon the border no matter how much they threaten your world. So if you're successful, it's highly unlikely that they'll bother with you anymore."

He stopped in his tracks. "Of course you realize," he warned, "that if we lose the war—and I don't need to tell you it's a very real possibility—they will punish your people harshly."

Guinevere held her head high. "We must take that risk. My people would rather die than be the slaves of the Dominion." She turned to Martok. "I'm not asking you to fight, General," she told him, "only to bring us there. With your cloaking device, surely it can be done with little risk on your part?"

"Klingons are not afraid of risk," he told her boastfully, not about to let a few Romulans show him up. "You'll need to fight your enemy in space as well as on the surface. The _Rotarran_ will be there!" He stood up from his command chair and addressed the Starfleet officers. "You are not under my command," he said to them, "but I would like you all to be a part of this glorious battle."

LaForge laughed. "Well, I told Captain Picard I wouldn't try any heroics, but I don't think he'd run away from this one. Count me in." The others murmured in agreement.

"What about you, Ferengi?" Martok asked Quark, who surprisingly had not said a word up until that point.

The bartender smiled nervously. "Um, it's not like I haven't been in a battle before, but that doesn't mean I like it," he squeaked, trying to hide the terror he was obviously feeling. He cleared his throat. "But, you're going to need more ships."

"There are no more to be had," Martok said, throwing his hands in the air.

Quark wiggled his fingers together. "Oh…I wouldn't say that. But first, I need to call my Moogie."

* * *

It was a well-known fact that Quark's mother, Ishka, had the ear of Grand Nagus Zek. At his side, she had been subtly working to liberate the women of Ferenginar. Quark did not have to argue at all to show her the similarities between Lady Guinevere's struggle and her own. Convincing her to actually help was a bit of a stretch, but he would try. More than his genuine desire to free Guinevere's planet, there was no way in the Vault of Eternal Destruction that he was going to let this ship full of maniacs charge into this with only one ship. It was suicide! Bashir's calculations be damned.

"_As much as I can sympathize, Quark,"_ said Ishka's image on the viewscreen, _"we can't bring the Ferengi Alliance into the war against the Dominion. A war may be good for business,"_ she said, alluding to one of the Rules of Acquisition, _"but not when you're involved in it yourself."_

"You don't have to," her son insisted. "Just tell the daimons to say they're there to trade, and jam their communications. Think of it, a new world to open trade with. They have to recover from the war, of course," he added, attempting to minimize that downside, "but we have to look toward the future. See? I do listen to what you tell me."

Ishka thought about it for a few seconds. _"I'll see what I can do, Quark,"_ she said warily._ "But no promises."_

"That's all I ask, Moogie," he said humbly. The screen went dark as the transmission ended. It was evident that Ishka thought his little speech was a load of hogwash. But at least he had succeeding in getting her to sympathize with the hew-mon lady. Hopefully, the rest would take care of itself.

* * *

Guinevere and Bochra walked hand in hand down the corridor to the "accommodations" that the Klingons had provided them. It was the first time they had been able to be alone together since right after their wedding. Nua Breizh was a full two days away, and they did not intend to waste any precious moments.

After all that they had been through, they were both near exhaustion. They were used to Spartan conditions, but the quarters assigned to them were still somewhat of a surprise. There was only one sleeping platform, and it was barely large enough for one person. Naturally, Bochra insisted that his wife would sleep there, while he would sleep on the floor.

Bochra lovingly held his wife close to him. "Your skin is so cool," he whispered as he stroked her cheek. "I've always liked that."

"Hmm," she responded sleepily.

He coaxed her to lie down, and kneeled next to her. "I don't deserve you," he said as he watched her close her eyes, "but I'm grateful you have given me a second chance. I'll never take you for granted again," he vowed. "And I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"You already have, and I love you," she said, her eyelids fluttering back open. "How could I do anything else? Besides, divorce is only something they do in the Federation," she winked.

Bochra chuckled heartily. "Still, I will continue to endeavor to become more worthy of you, my princess."

Then Guinevere's smile faded. "You're not going to get in trouble for this, are you?"

"Don't worry," he said as he tenderly touched her hair, trying to relax her into falling asleep. "Between my father and Radek, everything will be sorted out. Besides, the High Command needs me too much to let me go right now." He smiled optimistically, "I may even be allowed to keep my ship."

"I hope so. You know there will always be a ship for you in our star navy, once we rebuild it, and if you wish it," she offered cautiously. She knew that what he really desired was to serve in the Romulan military, but she wanted to make the gesture all the same.

Bochra took off the outer jacket of his uniform and covered her with it. "I just may have to take you up on that when the war is over, ma cherie amour," he said, grateful for the overture. "But we shall see if it will be necessary."

Guinevere was about to say something else when he silenced her by gently touching her lips with his fingers. "Go to sleep, _ailhun_," he told her, with the slightest hint of a command in his tone.

She did not make any protest, but instead wearily closed her eyes again. "I love you, Bochra," she whispered as she began to nod off.

Bochra smiled warmly as he sank down to the floor, still holding her hand. "I love you, my beautiful Guinevere," he returned. If only they both weren't so extremely tired, and on this stinky, infernal Klingon ship. Otherwise, he would have demonstrated exactly how much he loved her. He listened to her breathing and waited for her to fall asleep before allowing himself to finally drift off.

* * *

The next day, Guinevere awoke and saw that Bochra had already gone. She looked at the chronometer and was at once disappointed in herself for sleeping so late. The fact that her husband was not there was also a bit disheartening. Her best guess was that he had gone to the bridge. She knew full well that he would feel it necessary to put up a front while around the Klingons; and that he would be less affectionate to her as a result as long as they were on this ship.

But then she smiled dreamily. Bochra had done a remarkable job of behaving himself while on this Klingon vessel. After what had occurred the last time he had been around Klingons—and some of those same individuals were members of this crew—she was concerned about a recurrence of that episode. But to his credit, he had demonstrated admirable self-control.

The thought that she would be the one to get into trouble had not crossed her mind at all.

When she arrived in the mess hall, lunch was in full swing. Donatra, Sirtis, and Martinez were there, and several Klingons with whom Guinevere had not yet become acquainted.

The Klingon women eyed her curiously, and they weren't subtle about it, either. No doubt they were considering the fact that she was married to a Romulan. Guinevere really hoped they weren't going to bring it up. Knowing how gregarious and unrestrained Klingons were, however, she had the feeling they wouldn't stay silent on the matter for long.

One of the females—the weapons officer, she remembered from the day before—introduced herself as N'Garen. "I have to wonder what it must be like to share a Romulan's bed…" she mused aloud.

Guinevere smiled thinly. "I'd rather not discuss that," she answered, trying to keep the conversation polite and in good taste.

"Then I just may decide to have your Romulan _Par'Mach'kai_ for myself and find out," she licked her lips in anticipation.

Guinevere didn't know the exact translation of the Klingon word, but she guessed its meaning. They were far beyond propriety now. She wasn't sure if N'Garen was serious or merely baiting her. There was definitely a challenging threat in her tone.

Without a weapon of some sort, or the element of surprise, Guinevere wasn't sure she would stand much of a chance against the Klingon harpy. Unfortunately, the other Klingons didn't appear as though they would let her back down, either. And even if they did, she was a Breton—and a regent at that. She _couldn't_ back down.

At the same time, this was a brawl waiting to happen. She could see Donatra tensing beside her. Sirtis and Martinez were also anticipating a conflict. Guinevere had to force down her anger and think of a solution quickly before things got nasty.

She decided at last to respond with a mocking laugh, as loud and shrewish as she could manage. "You're welcome to him," she stated nonchalantly, sounding quite cocky, if she did say so herself. Her companions, especially the Romulans, gaped at her. Their expressions were a twisted combination of disgust and shock. "That is, if he will have you," she added, laughing again. "Somehow, though, I really don't see that happening."

A few tense seconds went by. But the subterfuge worked, and N'Garen backed off. In fact, she cackled along with Guinevere. "You are a brave woman," she said, baring her sharp teeth. "And you have a sense of humor."

"Thank you." Guinevere sat back down at the table, carefully concealing her relief.

Now that she could relax somewhat, she turned her attention to the food. It looked completely revolting—like something one would feed to wild animals. Her stomach turned, and she didn't know if it was because she was appalled at the sight of it or weak from hunger. Or both, perhaps.

She glanced over at her non-Klingon companions. Their plates were cleared. Either they had already eaten, or they had chosen not to partake. Stoically, she helped herself to the dish that wasn't crawling. It was raw. _Just like a rare steak_, she tried to convince herself. _Only one more day…_

* * *

At last they reached Nua Breizh without any more incidents. After going over the plan—the brainchild of Dr. Bashir for the most part—they prepared to take a cloaked shuttle down to the planet surface.

Guinevere and the others examined the wall of weapons and made their selections.

Bochra entered the armory. "Radek has agreed to help," he announced. His silence about the matter of his father told everyone that Tomalak had refused his request for aid.

"You ready to saddle up?" LaForge asked him. "Choose your weapon, Commodore," he gestured toward the wall of Klingon weapons.

Bochra picked up a _batleth_ and frowned disapprovingly. He then gave it to Quark, who reluctantly accepted it, but didn't realize how heavy it would be. As soon as the Romulan released his grip, the _batleth_ fell to the floor with a loud clunk.

"What's this for?" Quark blinked. "Don't I get a disruptor or something?"

Bochra lifted an eyebrow in amusement. "Energy weapons don't function on Nua Breizh," he informed him.

The Ferengi gawked. "But…no one ever told me that!" he protested.

"You didn't ask," the Romulan smirked. He selected a couple of _tajtiq_ long knives and went about his way.

"Shooting is one thing, but hand to hand combat?" he whined to no one in particular.

"Sorry Quark," Bashir grinned. "Looks like you'll have to get tough or die."

"You've all gone crazy!" he exclaimed. "Who are you, and what have you done with the Starfleet do-gooders who were frequent customers at my bar?"

O'Brien shrugged. "Must be all these Klingons and Romulans we've been around lately. They're rubbing off on us."

Guinevere chose a _mek'leth_ sword. "If I can do it, Monsieur Quark, so can you," she encouraged sweetly, batting her long dark lashes at him.

"That's so very reassuring," he mumbled sarcastically.


	7. Chapter 6

**Thank you so very much to 0afan0, thyme2read, njmrtl, and JustaCrazy-Man for your reviews!**

* * *

At the last minute, Martok changed his mind and decided to take the team down in his ship, rather than trusting their safety to a shuttle, which in his mind could be destroyed too easily. The cloaked _Rotarran_ landed in a clearing in the forest to drop off the ground party. Dirt and debris swirled around like a tornado as the invisible bird-of-prey took off to go back into orbit.

"The cave is this way," said Guinevere. She cautiously led them deeper into the forest. "I doubt the Jem'Hadar are aware of this passage to the castle, but I'm sure you all realize we must be vigilant nonetheless."

Before long, they came to a deep ravine, which led to a tunnel. They followed the path of the cavern for a few miles. Then the cave floor began to slope upwards. Guinevere stopped when they reached a point where the path split off into two directions. The path to the right went down, while the left slanted upwards.

The lady paused for a long interval. "I don't remember this part," she confessed at last. "I was a small child the last time I went through this cave, and it was from the opposite direction."

"We're lost?" asked an irritated Worf. Quark looked like he was near panicking.

LaForge tried to scan the paths, but shook his head. "My implants can't penetrate this rock, but I'm guessing that's the idea behind having this tunnel."

"The left one goes up," O'Brien suggested, "Isn't that the way we're trying to go?"

"Not necessarily, Miles—" Bashir started to say.

"Just give me a minute!" Guinevere snapped, waving at them to be quiet. "My father taught me a rhyme to help me remember." She closed her eyes and tried to hum the song.

Several long minutes passed.

"It's to the right," she remembered suddenly, snapping her fingers.

The tunnel winded around and then ascended. The next thing they knew, the ceiling dropped, and they came to a trap door above them. Guinevere listened for any sounds above, and then turned to Bochra with a querying look.

"I don't hear anything," he answered her silent question. He loosened the latch and slowly lifted the door. A fleeting glance around confirmed that there were no hostiles in the immediate vicinity. After going up first, he pulled his wife up behind him.

The others followed, and found themselves in what appeared to be a wine cellar that had been dug out of the earth. There were slits of light coming from the two narrow windows near the ceiling. A window with a grill on the door allowed them to see a little better.

Guinevere smiled with satisfaction at the huge barrels surrounding them. "At least they didn't destroy the good wine, though I doubt the vineyards are still there. Savages!" She peeked through the bars on the door. "Looks clear," she whispered.

They made their way down the stone corridor. As they passed one of the doors, O'Brien inhaled a sweet scent. Bashir grinned at him. "Tobacco!" they said together.

LaForge was slightly taken aback. "You're not telling me the two of you actually smoke that stuff, are you?"

"In small quantities, the damage is minimal," Bashir informed him optimistically.

"Well, you guys can enjoy it for me," said LaForge with a skeptical chuckle.

At the end of the corridor was staircase. By instinct, everyone already knew to be silent until they reached the top. It led to a grand hallway. Guinevere quickly herded everyone to the nearest door to the right, just as a couple of patrolling Jem'Hadar marched by.

They found themselves in the kitchen. The ample cabinet space provided plenty of hiding places, should the necessity arise. The Jem'Hadar disappeared around the corner, and they all breathed a sigh of relief.

"This is crazy," Quark breathed rapidly, "Being a hero is overrated."

"Silence!" Sirtis demanded. He looked to Bochra. "Commander." He silently mouthed his next words. "Someone else is in this room." He pointed with his chin toward the hefty black caldron sitting on the hearth. It was surely large enough to hold a person.

With a nod, Worf volunteered to check it out. He, Bochra, and Sirtis moved to surround the large pot. A one, two, three, and they jumped to their feet with their weapons pointed to the brim.

Inside was a young woman with auburn hair and catching green eyes. She gasped when she saw them. "You aren't Jem'Hadar," she said in relief. Like most Nua Breizhians, she had a thick French accent. She was different, however, in that she was a civilian who could speak the Federation Standard tongue. Then she recognized the commander. "Lord Bochra! What are you doing here?"

"Mistress Enora," he acknowledged as he helped her out, barely remembering her name in time.

As Enora scanned the room, she noticed her sovereign. "Lady Guinevere!" she exclaimed, falling to her lady's feet. "We thought you were dead!"

Guinevere helped her back up. "To borrow a line from an Americain author, 'Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.' But what are you doing here?" she asked gently.

Enora wiped away her tears and composed herself. "I was getting food for the others. They hardly feed us. The children are crying from hunger."

"How many Jem'Hadar are there?" Bochra asked.

"About fifty here in the castle, Milord," she answered, still not comfortable addressing him by his still newly-acquired title. "The others have gone to encircle the fortress of Cap La Latte, where those who were able to escape have gathered. We know not how many are in the ships blockading us."

"That isn't much for a fortress," O'Brien commented. "They must be really confident about keeping it."

"There are nine of us," Bashir considered, "That should be enough to at least re-take San Mihael."

"It won't mean a thing if we raise the alarm," LaForge warned.

"Agreed," said Bochra. He turned to his wife. "How far is Cap La Latte?"

"A day's journey down the river," she answered.

"Too far away to pose an immediate threat," Bashir observed.

"And it divides and distracts them," Guinevere added. "They must be planning to starve out the resistance."

Quark spoke up. "Reality check! Nine is hardly a match for fifty."

Worf growled at him. "I have never liked you, Ferengi. You know that. Don't give me an excuse to lose my control." He gripped his bat'leth as a warning.

"For once I agree with the Klingon," gibed Bochra. "You're either with us, or against us. Make your choice now, for my patience is nearly spent." He held his knife to Quark's throat.

The Ferengi gulped. "Oh, I'm with you, make no mistake about that."

"Good," Bochra raked-out, "Because you know full well how Romulans repay treachery."

* * *

Martok studied the enemy ships on the viewscreen. They couldn't see him of course, as his ship was still cloaked. There were five of them—four Jem'Hadar and one Cardassian battle cruiser—a small force, to be sure, but too many for him to take on alone.

So for the moment, he was playing the waiting game. He loathed situations like this. He felt like a sneaking, slinking Romulan coward—waiting for more gutless Romulans to come so he could gang up on his prey. That's exactly what he was doing, in fact. He had sunk to such a low level.

War certainly did make strange bedfellows. The thought disgusted him. He felt like spitting, so he did.

"Sir," reported Alexander, who was serving as communications officer, "The Romulans are here. General Radek is hailing."

Martok leaned back in his chair. "Put the patahk on screen and be done with it," he groaned.

The screen flickered to show the face of an older Romulan with graying hair. Martok imagined that this was what Senator Letant would look like in a few years. _They all look alike_, he thought to himself.

"_General Martok."_ Radek looked about as equally thrilled to see him.

"It would appear that we are all that can be spared, General," the Klingon began. He had to be at least somewhat diplomatic, even if that _taHqeq_ wasn't going to make any effort. "May you die well," he offered.

Radek's expression turned even haughtier than it was before. _"Speak for yourself,"_ he said distainfully, _"I have no intention of dying anytime soon. We await your signal to attack."_

Martok wrinkled his nose just before the Romulan ended the transmission. "What is the galaxy coming to?" he mumbled to himself.

* * *

The IRW _Set'leth_ was taking a beating from the enemy vessels. But the ship and her crew still had plenty of fight left in them. Radek's words to Martok were still holding true.

"General," the centurion reported, "Another of our warbirds is decloaking. It's Commander Tomalak."

Radek lifted a brow. "Well, well," he said, allowing a small trace of surprise in his tone, "Hail him, if he isn't already hailing us."

The commander's face appeared on the viewscreen. Tomalak was younger than Radek, but not by much. Streaks of gray had not yet started to manifest themselves in his hair. It would not be much longer before they did, however.

"_I am as much of a fool as my son,"_ he remarked sourly. _"Despite my better judgment, I am here to assist you, General."_

Radek smiled thinly. "Neither of you is a fool," he disagreed. "You are a father coming to the aid of your only son; and he…" he leaned back and folded his hands, "is in love. I myself would do the same if the situation were reversed."

"_Then we are all fools,"_ Tomalak scoffed.

"Perhaps," said Radek, though he still didn't agree. He had endured much more than Tomalak. His wife had betrayed him, and his daughter was dead—at the hand of Tomalak's son by all accounts. In his view, if he could overcome his bitterness, so could his comrade.

The centurion piped up again, "General, two Ferengi marauders are entering the system. They are offering their assistance!" he said in astonishment.

Radek smiled at Tomalak's image, "Will wonders never cease? It would appear we are not the only fools, Commander."


	8. Chapter 7

**Thank you to 0afan0 and thyme2read for your reviews! And thank you to BewilderedFemale for your review of "A Moth to the Flame"!**

**0afan0 deserves a large portion of credit for his input and inspiration in this chapter. Thank you! I couldn't have done it without your help!**

* * *

Geordi hovered behind Bochra and Guinevere, waiting for the Jem'Hadar to come around the corner. He gripped his Klingon sword tightly; he was nervous. Of course he had had hand-to-hand combat training at the Academy, and had seen action before, but a phaser would have suited him better.

Four Jem'Hadar came into view, only to be quickly taken down by Bochra and his lady. Geordi was relieved that he didn't even have to take a swing after all.

"That's ten," said Guinevere, enthusiastically.

_That many_? thought Geordi wryly, _Well, only another forty to go, then._

Given their numbers, they had decided to split up. LaForge, Bochra, and Guinevere (his Romulan friend wasn't going to let his wife out of his sight again) made the first team. The second was comprised of Donatra, Sirtis, Worf, and Bashir. They were each to clear out one side of the castle and meet up in the middle. The remaining members—Martinez, O'Brien, and Quark—were to follow Enora to where the prisoners were being kept and free them.

Moving on, they crept down the curving stone hallway. They had been at it for several hours, and Geordi found himself wishing that Bashir and O'Brien were still there. The mood was much lighter with them around.

General Radek's voice suddenly sounded on Bochra's communicator. _"We have defeated the enemy vessels, Commander,"_ he reported. _"The Klingons are now sending ground troops to the other fortress."_

Bochra smiled. "Excellent, General. We will be in control of San Mihael soon."

"_Good. I'll meet you there with Tomalak in a few hours." _On the other end of the line, he could just make out a faint chuckle. _"It's amazing what can be accomplished with our superiority and Klingon brute force. I think I'll suggest the possibilities to the High Command when we return."_

The corner's of Bochra's lips turned up slightly. "Yes, sir." He had no sooner ended the transmission when another group of Jem'Hadar appeared without warning.

_Here we go again... _Geordi thought with a weary sigh. _When I get back, I'm putting in for a desk job._

* * *

The Breton women and children were trickling out of the dungeon one by one. Meanwhile, the Jem'Hadar could come charging in at any moment. So in order to keep himself from being paralyzed with fear, Quark tried to imagine that the hew-mons were bars of latium floating out of a sack and stacking up in his pretend vault.

He had, rather audaciously (even for a Ferengi), attempted to wager with the naïve Martinez that he thought they could free the prisoners without firing a single shot. And he was confident that he would have succeed—if O'Brien hadn't overheard his boast.

"Nice try, Quark," the Irishman quipped. Then Martinez remembered that energy weapons didn't work on Nua Breizh, and hastily withdrew her bet.

_Oh, well, it was worth a shot._ The Ferengi laughed silently at his own wit. He consoled himself by calculating his percentage of the future profits that trade with Nua Breizh would bring, as well as his finder's fee.

Being a hero was all very well, but there was no sense in going home empty-handed.

* * *

Lady Guinevere proudly stood once more in the ancient castle of San Mihael. Her people were free again. The grand hall was filled with those who had survived the Dominion occupation—mostly women and children, as well as a few elderly men.

She gave a rousing speech, thanking all from her heart for their courage and fortitude during the occupation. Most particularly, she was grateful to those who had liberated her people—some at the cost of their careers, or their lives.

Starfleet, Romulus, Qo'noS, Ferenginar. Each of the heroes was presented with the Ring of Bran—the highest honor she could bestow upon them. Inside each golden ring was a gray rook and a black crow, which symbolized the ancient Breton tradition of those who died bravely returning in the form of birds. Never before had the Nua Breizhians honored off-worlders with these laurels. But regardless of their affiliations, the rescuers were all heroes as far as the people were concerned.

With due reverence, Guinevere pinned the medals onto the tunics of the eclectic band of soldiers who had aided her in their struggle. When she came to Worf, she paused. She fully realized the gravity of his helping her and her cause. It was then that she understood that she had misjudged him. Perhaps she had misjudged Klingons in general.

"I am especially grateful to you, Mr. Worf."

The Klingon nodded, but he respectfully kept his eyes facing forward. "No," he said, "What I did was in reparation for my cowardly insult of such a noble lady. I can only hope that I have regained my honor after this small feat."

Guinevere was touched by his words, especially his honesty. "You have as far as I am concerned," she said. "And you and your own will always be welcome here on Nua Breizh." She affixed the badge to his uniform. "When the war is over, I would personally be honored if you would visit us, Worf, son of Mogh, of the House of Martok. We will feast in your honor."

Now Worf did meet her eyes. "I will be honored to come," he responded.

"It gives me great joy that we are reconciled."

"And I."

After the ceremony, there was a simple, but joyous, reception. Bochra went over to the bar to get a drink, and found that Worf was already there. The two exchanged nods, silently agreeing to a permanent cessation of hostilities. They would never be friends, but they were no longer enemies.

On the other side of the room, Quark was haggling with the Ferengi traders over his percentage of the future profits that would result from commerce with Nua Breizh. Bochra had never trusted Quark. The fact that the barkeep had no qualms about swindling his own people served to add further credence to his belief. _How amusingly typical_, the commander thought with a smirk.

His gazed turned toward his father. To his surprise, Tomalak was in a conversation with his wife. From what Bochra could tell, he was showing Guinevere every respect and courtesy. Naturally, he had recognized what a great lady she was a long time ago. But now Tomalak had finally seen it, too. It was a good deal more than he had ever hoped for.

Bochra wandered outside onto the balcony. Sighing as he scanned the devastated countryside below, he quickly shot back the remaining liquid in his glass. It angered him to see his wife's beautiful home marred in such an awful manner. He threw the glass over the edge. It shattered on the rocks below.

Before long, Geordi LaForge joined him. "Not a whole lot left, is there?" he commented, guessing his thoughts.

"They will rebuild," he responded confidently. "Geordi..."

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to thank you for not allowing me to throw my life away—again," he smiled ironically.

LaForge grinned. "Anything for a friend, my man."

Bochra offered his hand. "I am once again in your debt. I will never forget it."

"No, Bochra," he said, returning the handshake, "Friends only owe each other friendship. So, I have to ask, where are you and your lady planning to settle down? When the war's over, I mean?"

"I haven't told her yet, but I've decided to stay on Nua Breizh. She would follow me if we went somewhere else, but she would never be at peace." He leaned on the stone ledge, starring down at the rushing river below. "It's hard to believe how much I've changed. I never thought I would fall in love with a human," he mused.

LaForge seemed to sympathize with his predicament. "Hey, if you two can get through a war, I think you can get through anything."

* * *

The tall shadows of the fireplace flames danced on the stone walls. Their presence helped to banish the cold to the dark winter's night outside. The light they cast was insufficient to see outside the window, but Bochra surmised that it was still snowing. He lay on a rug with his head resting on his wife's lap, listening while she read to him. She was stroking his hair, and every so often she would kiss his forehead, or feed him nuts and berries.

Being a warrior, he of course didn't require such doting and affection, but it was pleasant to have nonetheless. He closed his eyes and savored the moment, for he knew it would not last forever. When she finished the chapter, Guinevere sighed.

Bochra, sensing her thoughts, sat up. "Do not think of tomorrow," he said gently, "It isn't here yet." They had been fortunate enough to spend one precious week together, but in the morning he would have to leave with Tomalak.

"I love you," she whispered softly. "I have loved no other but you."

"I know," he said, "And I have loved no one but you." He tenderly caressed her cheek and touched his fingers to her lips. "We shall see each other again, my wife," he assured her, "And we will have all of the time in the world, when this war is over. Remember my promise. I will resign my commission so that we can be together always."

Guinevere smiled weakly. "Thank you."

"I would do anything for you," he insisted, locking his eyes with hers.

The tears began to fall as he knew they would. Tears were a strange concept to Romulans. He had never even seen his own mother cry. He himself had not done so since he was a child. But Bochra knew that human women cried often, so he didn't think any less of her. He also knew that she only revealed this vulnerable side to him, because she trusted him. She never permitted this show of weakness in front of others. He was proud of her for that.

His wife covered her face with her hands and sobbed quietly. It had probably been several months since she last wept—the last time they were together, he guessed. And with all that had happened—her captivity by Gul Trepar, their harsh quarrel, the subjugation of her world—she deserved a release.

Bochra took her into his arms and ran his fingers through her long hair. It grieved him to see her like this. Every time, he found himself wanting to exact his revenge on those responsible. They had long made up, but he still felt a little guilty that he was somewhat responsible for her grief.

"Shhh," he said, attempting to comfort her.

"When will this cruel war be over?" she sniffed.

Though he had wanted to be a warrior for as long as he could remember, Bochra too, was weary of fighting the Dominion. He knew it was much worse for his wife, whose world had suffered terribly from the ravages of invasion and deprivation. He desperately hoped it would not come to that for his own planet.

"I don't know," the Romulan answered, wiping her tears, "But it will come to an end _eventually_. You are strong; you will go on until then."

"Yes," she said, beginning to regain her control again, "I will."

Bochra smiled adoringly. "That's why I love you," he told her, kissing her passionately. He felt his heart beating wildly as she surrendered to him. It was their last night together, and he wasn't going to waste it on sleep.

**Fin**


	9. Preview

**Coming Soon...**

"**War Burns And the Laws Fall Mute" **

* * *

_Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges._

_(For among the times of arms, the laws fall mute.)_

-Cicero

* * *

"Romulus?" Guinevere's eyes were wide in disbelief, and she looked back and forth from Admiral Ross to the Romulan senators Letant and Cretak. "You don't know what you're asking," she said, shaking her head.

"I don't need to tell you how important this conference is for both the Federation and Romulus," Admiral Ross countered diplomatically. "Now, Senator Cretak here has informed me of your past experiences on her world. But as for the Federation Council and myself, we agree that you would be the ideal bridge between Romulus and the Federation. If you think about it, you're already a bridge since you're married to a Romulan."

"But I mistrust _both_ of your governments, as you all well know," she said firmly.

"Yes, we do," agreed the admiral. "That's why we want you. You don't favor either side, so you'd be more objective than most other mediators."

"Admiral Ross is quite correct," Senator Letant interjected. "My esteemed colleague," he gestured toward Cretak, "and I can think of no better person for this mission."

Cretak spoke, adding to her fellow senator's case. "The Senate has not forgotten their first meeting with you. And the news of your liberation of Nua Breizh has once more brought you to their attention. There are others besides Letant and myself who admire your bravery."

Guinevere considered their points for a moment. "Alright," she allowed, "So how would this benefit Romulus?"

"Admiral Ross is correct in pointing out that your neutrality is above suspicion," Cretak replied. "Furthermore, your past experiences among our people, though unfortunate, give you the advantage of an uncommon understanding of our culture and ideals."

"We will, of course, assign Commander Bochra to escort you to the conference, my Lady," Letant added, dangling the proverbial bait in front of her.

"You're points are taken," said Guinevere, "And I'm willing to at least consider your proposition." She folded her hands in her lap. "But there still remains the matter of my personal safety. You'll recall that last time I barely escaped Romulus with my life."

"No would dare risk harming you," insisted Cretak. "Chairman Koval of the Tal Shiar will see to that."

"The Tal Shiar?" Guinevere echoed in disgust. "They have their own agenda. Everyone knows _that_."

"Please, Lady Guinevere," Ross pleaded. "For the cause of peace, the Alpha Quadrant needs you."

"Very well," she said after a long consideration, "I'll do it."


End file.
